Darcy & Elizabeth (45 page)

What the Gods Have in Store

When Elizabeth reflected upon this time, neither her mother's disputatiousness nor her sister's inanity were brought immediately to mind. All she would recall was her husband's caressing touch and her children's delighted smiles all wrapped in a glorious golden glow. Even the morning they rode out towards the far hills, the sun upon their shoulders was merely a kiss, promising the day to come to be as grand as the last. It was a time of such unparalleled glory, upon no count could it endure.

Indeed, the other shoe that Elizabeth anticipated did fall. However, it one was of an altogether different fashion than expected.

***

They awaited for the third day of Lydia's visit ere they took out upon horseback. It was not an unusual occurrence; it was a habit they took full advantage of when there were disagreeable relations in visit. Enhancing this decision was an uncommonly fine morning. Indeed, they would have been happy for this occasion had they not been running in defence of their very sanity. Despite the vexation of Lydia's trying presence, Elizabeth was in fine enough spirits. She had come to be easy with leaving her children for a few hours at a time. As those occasions were few, she cherished them. This day too held an additional pleasure. It was her first outing upon her beloved mare, Boots, since foaling.

Darcy had honoured Elizabeth's wish to present the colt as a gift to Fitzwilliam. It had been her intention since she learnt that Scimitar was the foal's sire. However, she had the good sense to wait to mention it until her husband's displeasure over the inadvertent breeding had waned. Much to her relief, his pique over the entire affair seemed to have disappeared altogether. Indeed, when at last she had nerve enough to broach the subject, he had behaved as if she had run mad to think he might have been of another mind upon the matter.

That told her that there was absolutely no remaining rancour towards Fitzwilliam—which was a happy thought indeed.

They made a little ceremony of it, gathering Georgiana and Fitzwilliam in the courtyard for the presentation. Elizabeth held Boots's reins and Darcy stood at attention in a manner that suggested the entire idea were his. With great formality, he then bade Edward Hardin to lead the handsome colt out onto the cobbles. If any doubt had lingered over just which horse was his sire, all was forgot. So precise were his markings, he looked to be Scimitar's replica.

Perhaps thinking of her own son's likeness to his father, Elizabeth whispered in her mare's ear, “Poor Boots. I know how you must feel. It looks as if you had no part in it at all.”

After the adulation of the colt's likeness had faded, Darcy reached out and took the reins, and with great gravity, handed them to Fitzwilliam. The colonel stood momentarily stunned—both by the colt's resemblance to Scimitar and the grandness of the gift. As unlikely as it was, tears seemed to threaten Fitzwilliam's countenance. But he and Darcy both put up such a masquerade of nonchalance that neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana dared remark otherwise.

It would be months, however, before Fitzwilliam would take possession of the colt, for it was not yet fully weaned. In the meantime, Elizabeth was happy to give her mare a little freedom. The frisky colt kicked jubilantly when turned out into paddock, and, like sons everywhere, did not look back when Elizabeth rode off on Boots. Secretly, Elizabeth thought of them as motherly cohorts escaped from their offspring for a truant day of play. Indeed, the wild extravagance of racing beside her husband made her heart hurry (in a way that was surpassed only by other liberties enjoyed of him). Darcy, however, appeared quite of an opposing mood, for he had spoken but little the entire morn. She felt a small pang of conscience that her kin and their abuse to his sensibilities had altered his spirits.

***

His reticence once they had taken leave suggested he was more thoughtful than vexed. He remained distant, however, for nigh a mile's travel. She thought it odd that he invited her along only to ignore her. After several attempts to beguile him into conversation met with little success, she decided that frankness was necessary.

“Shall we go all this way without you speaking two words together?” she asked.

She did not like the tone of her own voice. It sounded uncommonly like a complaint rather than the tease she meant it to be. He turned about and looked upon her. His eyes were piercingly direct. So piercing were they that she unconsciously shrank in her saddle. Still not uttering a word, he nodded for yonder grove and gave an encouraging heel to Blackjack. The big horse responded splendidly, increasing his leisurely walk into a gentle, rocking-horse canter. It was not necessary for her to nudge Boots, for the moment Blackjack cantered on, Boots followed in kind.

The sun was not yet high, but the shade still felt good upon her shoulders as she pulled Boots to a stop beneath a huge oak. Just as Darcy alit, a hare leapt from its burrow, startling them. Both horses reared, but Boots did not immediately settle down as Blackjack had. The mare continued to dance about, even kicking out with one leg severely enough to have called it a buck. Darcy relinquished his reins to catch Boots's bridle. She continued to half-jump, but he put a soothing hand upon her nose and called to her in a soft, lowing voice. Elizabeth believed herself to have done an admirable job of not being thrown, but refused to rule out that possibility whilst the horse continued to skitter about. Boots settled, but Darcy clung to the bridle and put his free hand out to Elizabeth to encourage her to dismount. She let loose the reins and fairly leapt to him, and the momentum cast them both to the ground.

Lying atop her husband was not her least favourite position, but she feared that the odd elbow or knee might have done him damage, hence she immediately rolled from him and sat up.

Worriedly, she queried, “Pray, tell me what injury I have done you.”

“As always, I am here but to serve you,” he laughed.

Both looked at Boots, who was clearly confused by what had come to pass, for she had never reared before that day. As if to rid herself of all the commotion, she gave a shuddering shake of her head. She then hung it low as if aware she had somehow caused great injury.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth, “'twas not your fault, Boots…”

“No, it was not her fault. It was mine and mine alone,” Darcy announced. “I should have ridden her first myself before allowing you to take her out.”

Elizabeth felt herself quite capable of seeing to the reorienting her own horse. She opened her mouth to chide him for such an affront, but did not. The expression he bore when he drew himself to one knee bid her to be quite of another mind altogether. He reached out, cupping her chin in his hand.

Said he, “It is my duty to inquire of you, Lizzy. Have you injured your…have you been injured?”

She knew not what to admire most, his delicacy or his formality. She stifled a smile and shook her head almost as emphatically as had Boots. Darcy's hand dropped from her face and he knelt before her. His expression of concern, however, remained. Suddenly, the merriment that had threatened to overspread her countenance evaporated.

Solemnly, he said, “We must talk.”

The gravity of this statement was not lost upon her. Her heart had not yet stopt racing from her small scare ere it was sent skittering again with anxiousness. She took his hands in hers (more of a comfort to herself rather than to him), to gird for what was to come.

“Bingley must retrench,” he announced abruptly.

“Retrench?” she repeated dumbly.

“Yes.”

“How could that be? Why? Jane has said nothing to me,” Elizabeth was stunned.

“I am certain Jane knows nothing of it. Bingley only just disclosed the state of his affairs to me.”

She sat in silence, her mind at the same time racing and suspended. It was an odd sensation—one she could not elude long enough to form further questions.

In the resultant quiet, he said, “There is more afoot in the country than any of us had reckoned, Lizzy. When your sister related observing many waggons carrying belongings upon the road, she may not have exaggerated.”

“If not, it would be a first,” Elizabeth interjected sourly.

He emitted a small harrumph of agreement before continuing.

“What we witnessed returning from Brighton was only the beginning of an exodus of working men who have had to uproot their families and move east for work.”

“Those men upon the beach…?”

“I can only imagine their mischief,” he admitted.

She shook her head, still unbelieving, “I am well aware high taxes and bad harvests have caused much hardship and unrest—but what has this to do with Bingley? Now that the war is over, Napoleon's embargo has been lifted upon his merchandise. I was of the opinion all was well.”

“I fear it may well have come too late.”

“Jane knows nothing of it?”

“Bingley has gone to London even now to speak with his bankers. They have impeded the movement of his shipments,” he gave an imperceptible shake of his head at the thought. “It is a fruitless cause.”

“They will lose their home,” she said finally, then realising the magnitude of that fact, “Jane! Poor Jane!”

“That may well be their fate unless someone comes to their aid.”

“You have a plan?”

“I have a plan.”

She smiled broadly. Her husband was, and always had been, a rescuer. At that moment she cared little how it came about, she wanted only to bask in the pleasure of his chivalry. He, however, would not allow that.

He said, “It involves a man I despise.”

She looked at him quizzically, saying, “Had we not agreed to believe that George Wickham is dead?”

“Contrary to my previous comments,” he said, “Wickham is not the only despicable man in England.”

With that, he stood and put forth his hand, “Rise, please, and thither I shall take you.”

She stood brushing grass from her skirts, mumbling that she was uncertain if she wanted to see any man in league with Wickham. He legged her upon Boots once again in repetition of the same seductive manner that he always employed. His hand lingered upon the calf of her leg. She could not, however, give it her undivided attention. She could think of nothing but Jane and how distressed she would be on Bingley's behalf.

“You, sir,” she cautioned, “must behave yourself, lest you tempt your wife from the business at hand.”

He did not respond, but leapt upon his own saddle with an oft-employed manoeuvre—one that she came to believe was employed only for her benefit. If it was, that made her happy twice—first because it displayed his considerable brawn to a propitious degree, and second because he wanted her to see it.

***

Darcy's intended destination was a neighbouring estate. It was the home of a family that had long been a thorn in Darcy's keenly felt sense of righteousness.

Thomas Howgrave was a gentleman only by the most generous definition of that term. He had fathered a son by his housekeeper—a deed not unheard of among the gentry. The insult to his station—as Darcy perceived it—was not having an illegitimate son. Rather, it was that he had ignored the indiscretion and the product of it until a particular situation necessitated him producing an heir. It was not the illegitimacy that affronted Darcy, but that he only chose to claim paternity when it fit his purposes—and Mrs. Howgrave was happy to stand arm in arm with her husband and the proof of his betrayal. Indeed, Darcy was known to have publicly snubbed young Henry Howgrave on more than one occasion. As to why Darcy had done the unthinkable in leading them to the Howgraves this day, and just what was their connection to Bingley left Elizabeth altogether perplexed. She had no doubt there would be method to this madness—but madness it seemed nonetheless.

He led her to an overlook above the house.

“'Tis a very pretty prospect,” said Elizabeth. “I did not expect that family to have such a handsome home.”

Elizabeth turned her horse, expecting to proceed down to the house. Darcy put up his hand to forestall her.

“No?” she looked at him, questioning.

For him to come all of five miles only to overlook the house of a man he did not esteem was quite bewildering. She had supposed that he had business there. The unlikelihood that he would have taken his wife to pay a call to such a man presented itself. Hence, she still desired an explanation.

“I wanted to see if you approve,” said he, “of the house and its park.”

“Why, yes. As I said, I find it quite pleasing.”

“It is but five miles from Pemberley.”

Cautiously, she agreed that, indeed, it was but five miles—her hindquarters vouched for the distance. She believed if he did not soon explain his cryptic remarks she might lose all patience.

At long last, he did thusly. “I want the place for Jane and Bingley.”

She was torn between delight at the prospect of having her beloved sister close at hand and true chagrin in the realisation that Jane might soon be homeless. She looked again upon the property and pictured Jane's brood running and playing upon the broad expanse of lawn. It was a pretty picture indeed.

“Yes,” she said, then more emphatically, “Yes! It would be ideal. That is, if the interior is half so lovely as its façade.”

“The decorations, I am quite sure, would be little problem for the two of you,” he smiled.

“I know you will soon reveal to me your design,” she raised an eyebrow—one suggesting that was not a hope but a demand.

“I do not yet have it all in place,” he said, then cautioned, “do not speak of any of it to Jane.”

“Of course not,” she replied, somewhat piqued that he thought that caution necessary (and somewhat contrite in realising that it probably was).

“Now that the elder Howgrave is dead, his son has inherited the estate of his grandfather. It was this inheritance which prompted my disapproval of the lot of them.”